milliways_bar | (no subject)

"Well, I mean. Space stations aren't exactly my specialty - twenty-first century, and that - but..."

He leans forward, in order to better point out something on the map.

"Here's a docking bay. Fairly near, a control room, which I assume might be a good idea to muck up, to turn off... I don't know, security cameras, or whatever internal defences they have, or make sure they can't do anything nasty to us with airlocks, or whatever. Then here, the 'power core', which - I don't know much about twenty-sixth century technology, but that sounds volatile and blow-up-able, if we're looking to take this place down. All near each other."

He then switches the blueprints about on the table.

"Then here, what's labelled as the main staff quarters - which probably includes security guards, am I right? All the way almost on the other side of the station. We attack at mealtimes, like Roland says, most everyone'll either be in the dining halls - " he points to them " - or way the fuck over in the staff quarters. Leaving us as clear a path and as long a time as we're likely to get to get the job done."

He snorts slightly, running his eyes over the layout.

"I didn't know any better, I'd say whoever designed this place was on our side."

Mal might actually agree with the...new person.

"These plans do give me more of a happy about this whole mess than is prudent, I'll admit."

A voice, speaking with great patience, says, "See, that's because you're crazy, sir."

Wash leans over Mal's shoulder to look at the plans, shooting Crowley a genuine smile as he does. "Hey, Crowley. Good to see you."

Mal eyes Crowley, then Wash, then Crowley again. Cuz Crowley's second-look worthy. Never gonna figure that one out, I'm thinkin'.

"I think I'll leave you both to talk 'bout...whatever you might need to talk about." Mal nods to Wash, giving up his seat.

Time for a drink.

He grins up at Wash, as Mal heads off towards the bar.

"Let me guess - he's the gruff anti-hero type with a heart of gold."

Wash smirks, sliding into the recently-vacated chair.

"Down to the letter, but I wasn't the one who told you. How's the recent resurrection treating you?"

"Took a bit to adjust to, you know, having nerve endings and such again, but I'm back up to speed now. Minus a certain amount of disfiguring scars, which is always a bonus."

He takes a sip of his coffee, surreptitiously detaching a quickly-sketched paper copy of the blueprints from the bottom of his mug.

"You?

He picks an invisible piece of lint off of his Hawaiian shirt, the smile turning a bit more wry. "Well, can't say there's been any resurrections on my part, but things are pretty shiny for being three days away from craziness and chaos. We're all kind of enjoying the 'Wow, it sure is calm today' part before the lightning suddenly starts splitting trees in half."

"Am I the only one who thinks we'll come out fine? We have, on our side, an angel, a demon, a Slayer," he starts counting them off on his fingers, "a mutant superhero, a powerful wizard, an experienced space-ship crew, and a tet of gunslingers. And most of the above have had, to a greater or lesser degree, first-hand experience in saving the world."

"...When you put it like that."

Still smiling, but he shakes his head a little.

"I don't know, we've had too many 'easy' things go amazingly, psychotically wrong for us before now. I can't deny the being reassured by the gunslingers, but...." A casual shrug. "Can't count on anything 'til it's over."

"Nah." He waves a dismissive hand. "I mean, what, nineteen people? Twenty? Against the mighty forces of the Academy and the Crimson King? 'Course we'll come out on top, it's narrative law."

A beat. Wash breaks into a sudden grin, and starts laughing.

"We need more stories like that," he says.

"So, what's the plan for getting everyone there? Milliwaysers just file through onto Serenity as we're coming up?"

"Far as I know. We've been occasionally taking on people to get a look around so everyone's got a feel for it beforehand, but mostly that's how it's...."

Wait. There's a thought. He tilts his head toward the door.

"You want the grand tour so long as we got you here?"

He shrugs.

"Sure, why not?"

Translation: omg spaceship!

Wash beams. He gets to show off his baby again! Yay!

Hopping to his feet, he beckons for Crowley to follow as he crosses the room. Unlike when most patrons open the front door, when Wash tugs on it, this one splits roughly down the middle and slides back into either side of the wall, revealing the metal steps leading down to Serenity's front hall. The lights around Kaylee's door cast a faint, comforting glow; the kitchen's just visible in the distance.

He moves a few steps down the stairs so Crowley can come aboard.

Trying to conceal his glee, Crowley moves after Wash, clattering down the few steps to the corridor floor, and looking around interestedly.

"So this is it, huh? I'll tell you one thing, it doesn't look much like anything from St- "

He breaks off, suddenly, a funny expression crossing his face.

As Wash starts to turn around, "Much like anything from where n...?"

And he trails off as he gets a good look at Crowley.

"What's wrong?"

"Uhmm. I don't... My head..."

Janine, is there a subtle way you could remind my four o'clock that they need to bring their portfolio with them this time? Because last time, it was just... it was...

He shakes his head, trying to find the words that can convey that the world - and his mind - suddenly seems to be splitting in two.

...Sir? Are you alright, sir?

Uhmm. I don't... My head...

"I think I'm going to be sick."

I think I'm going to be sick.

Oh, hell.

Crowley's definitely going the peculiar shade of pale that people sometimes get when they're off-world for the first time. But it shouldn't be happening now, not when they're already out in the black with nobody's grav pulling at them but their own; and it's not like Faith or Lilly or Susan had a problem with it while they were aboard....

"Zāogāo. Okay, um, don't -- maybe you should sit down, I'll get something, be back in a -- "

Wash turns and sprints for the kitchen.

Rutting space sickness.

His balance is definitely off, and he's leaning against the wall for support, head down, dark tiles

thick red carpet under his feet and Janine has her hand on his arm, she looks worried, and the sound of the waves

the engine that he can hear seems terribly, terribly loud and he rests his

the scar on his

cheek against the cool

glass

metal wall and closes his eyes.

Next moment, Wash is back with an empty bowl and a wet dishcloth.

A stifled wince: the demon's looking even worse. Swiftly, he decides that he's giving this one shot or thirty seconds, whichever last less, before he postpones the tour and sends him back to Milliways.

"Here -- Crowley, come on, sit, put your head down -- " He takes him by the arm and tries to guide him to the stairs.

What does he mean stairs? That's the seat behind his desk and he lowers himself into it looking down trying to focus focus on a letter-head of little gold wings and

"Wash, I think I should go back."

"Ain't gonna argue with that." He glances up at the bridge door. It's still open, leading into Milliways.

....Screw it. It's been close enough to thirty seconds.

"Right." A breath. "Okay. Later with the sitting."

Wash drops the cloth into the bowl, helps Crowley back to his feet, and guides him through the door.

And

- click -

it's gone.

Just... gone.

Tentatively, Crowley straightens up, gingerly turning his head from side to side, testing his balance.

"Well. That was... the weirdest thing ever."